


Bleak Outlooks

by deedidoo



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Gen, blood warning, fever warning, i don't know how ao3 tags work so work with me people im sorry, in which i need whump but i can't go through the archive cause i didn't finish the series yet, sick!laurence, tag to empire of ivory, with a whole bunch of worried people, yeah that part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:12:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1392352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedidoo/pseuds/deedidoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That week is possibly one of the worst weeks for the crew of Temeraire, Dulcia, and Lily. They were that close to losing a valuable captain. </p><p>After which, Temeraire demands snuggles, injuries be damned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleak Outlooks

**Author's Note:**

> I should really be studying Sociology for my final in two days but I've been bitten by the Temeraire bug and couldn't help myself. It doesn't help that I love making characters sick and making other characters care for them. That weeklong timeskip was brutal to read. 
> 
> Some lines were taken straight from the book.
> 
> This is my second time writing in over a year and has not been betaed. Criticism is appreciated. Enjoy!

They were frightened out of their anxious wait with the sound of distant wings amongst the silence of the night.

“I hope that’s not a dragon returning for the rest of his dinner,” one of Lily’s crew whispered to no one.

Catherine was quick to admonish him, “I assure you, Captain Laurence did not get eaten.”

Chenery, who was manning their broken glass, made an uneasy sound at the back of his throat, “Wings with passengers spotted.”

“Passengers? Pray tell, a delegation?”

They couldn’t discuss any more as the dragon, much smaller than Kefentse, fitted into the opening for its passengers to disembark. It wasn’t a delegation, but more like two guards and an unconscious Laurence. Several of Lily’s crew were quick to push Captain Harcourt to the rear, and a few others rushed Chenery from the forefront to the rear to stand with Harcourt.

“Let me through, let me through!” Dorset pushed at the improvised blockade, needing to get through to his Captain.

The two guards were not too careful in not touching Laurence’s back, and made quick work of depositing him unceremoniously on the ground, face down, and leaving the same way they came.

The night made it impossible to see Dorset’s features clearly, but his normally sure hands shook slightly as he moved the remains of Laurence’s jacket. A moment passed before he spoke. “Come, help me carry him closer to the pond.”

Roland and Dyer wasted no time in pushing some straw together and were abruptly pushed back to stand with Tooke, sight covered by a few rather large gunners and midwingmen. “You shouldn’t watch this,” one of them whispered.

“We have no medicinal supplies to speak of, and I fear infection,” Dorset sad in morose tones.

“Is there anything we can do for him?” Chenery was visibly chewing his bottom lip.

“We can sacrifice some shirts and cloths. I will need to thoroughly clean the lash marks and we will no doubt need a compress for when it gets bad. And someone, get me some water.”

His request was taken care off by Chenery who brought over a cup, but the others were standing in a stupor.“Lash marks?!” Lieutenant Ferris was the first to break the silence. “They flogged him?!”

“Yes Lieutenant, now please keep your voice down.” Dorset took the offered cup and pressed it to Laurence’s lips. “Drink,” he ordered and surprisingly, Laurence opened his mouth and managed a few swallows. Dorset could see his eyes half lidded in the faint moonlight coming from the mouth of the cave where it was not obscured by the mass of bodies, no doubt to offer what little help in caring for his patient. Whatever lucidity Dorset saw faded with the water and Laurence went slack.

“He lost consciousness,” Harcourt observed, trying to look composed but her worry was showing.

“All the better. He won’t feel the pain from the cleaning. I can already feel the heat,” Dorset said, all business and the slight shake of his hands was gone. “Have you found cloth?”

“Yes,” one of the gunners brought a sodden undershirt.

The surgeon took a deep breath and started the long road to cleaning the marks.

“There must be around twenty,” Chenery breathed. Harcourt was kneeling by Laurence’s head, keeping a wet neckcloth to his forehead. His breathing was already growing laboured and an uncomfortable heat settled around him like a blanket.

“Even two in such circumstances can prove fatal,” Dorset added, not looking up from his work.

Everyone else spread around the cave, trying to dose but failing. Laurence’s pants echoed, masked only by the trickle of water. The runners were not allowed near that corner, but they went around collecting whatever cloth could be spared. A few of Laurence’s crew were standing nearby, running to wet the compress or to bring new cloth.

They couldn’t tell the passage of time, but no one had fallen asleep yet when Dorset pronounced the wounds as clean as her could get them. “We should try to get him to drink as much as possible, he’ll sweat a lot in the coming days but I don’t want to rouse him from his sleep.”

“We’ll take shifts,” Chenery said and promptly took first, out of guilt no doubt. He changed places with Captain Harcourt at Laurence’s head and told everyone to get whatever rest they could.

“Wake me up for next shift,” Captain Harcourt said as she left for her own sleeping spot.

Needless to say, not much sleep was had that night.

 

The light of the next morning brought stark details into light. A few of the lashes have grown infected in the night, and Laurence was red at the cheeks and back but pale everywhere else. Dorset cleaned his back as much as he could again, and they kept a wet cloth to his forehead as much as they could.

They were unable to sit vigil for too long for Mrs. Erasmus came back, riding on Kefentse.

“Have they actually done it?” she asked, not even down from the dragon’s back.

“Yes, my lady,” Captain Chenery was the one to greet them, Harcourt and Dorset sitting with Laurence at the back.

Mrs. Erasmus tried to make way to the back to see him but a warning growl from Kefentse stopped her mid step. “Oh I wish I could help but they would not listen nor reason with your claims. I am so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Madam,” Chenery tried to placate her, but she would have none of it.

“They want you all to work in the field, starting now,” she said, stricken. “There are dragons waiting to take you to the fields.”

Chenery took a visible deep breath and said, “Alright. But everyone cannot go. Captain Laurence is in a bad shape, we cannot leave him alone nor without expert care. Captain Harcourt, as you know, is also pregnant.”

Mrs. Erasmus translated to Kefentse, to which he replied with a low growl. She tried once again and this time was met with more success. “He says that your physician and children may stay behind with Captain Laurence for now, but everyone else must work.”

That sealed their fate and with the exit of Kefentse, the other dragons landed one by one and took them to the fields.

Soon is was just Dorset, Roland, Dyer, Tooke and the feverish Laurence in the cave. With the absence of people, the cave ventilated a bit but his laboured uneven breaths were heard much clearer.

“Well, I am sorry to show you this sight and I’m sure the Captain wouldn’t want you to see him like this, but you will have to help me.”

A chorus of “yessirs” rang out and soon Dorset had the children keeping the cool cloth to the forehead while he himself cleaned the lash marks and tried to cool the angry red flesh around them. He was fighting a losing battle, or perhaps prolonging the torture. With no medicine, the infection will soon burn through his body and Temeraire may come to collect a corpse rather than his Captain. Dorset kept these thoughts to himself, it wouldn’t do to decrease the group morale nor to voice these sad predictions to the youngest in the group.

Laurence did not improve when everyone else came back from the fields, in fact, he looked much worse. He has not opened his eyes nor taken any water, but was sweating excessively.

Harcourt switched with Roland at the place of honour near his head and kept the neckcloth there.

The dragon deposited their food share for the day at the mouth of the cave, 3 baskets for the whole group.

Dorset shook his head at the porridge. “He can’t even drink water, how will he chew on this to swallow it?”

“What does he need?” Chenery was nearby, eating his own share with enthusiasm regardless of the unappetising mush.

“A light broth.”

He stopped midway through his meal. “I can try to ask them tomorrow, saying that we will all refuse to cooperate unless Laurence receives care.”

The only thing this negotiation got them was a bowl of broth on the third day after the flogging, but no medicine.

“They surely want him to die, there is no other explanation,” Dorset whispered to the other captains, away from earshot of any of the crew.

“Perhaps this is how they treat all their ailments? They don’t know better,” Catherine suggested, but her own skepticism was heard.

The dragon surgeon took the water cup and poured a bit of the broth into it. “Let us try it. Chenery, if you will be so kind as to shift him onto his side, yes, like that, gentle now.” After much careful maneuvering, Laurence was on his side with Ferris supporting him and Chenery holding his head up. Dorset pressed the cup to the downed Captain’s lips and commanded, “Drink.” Nothing happened. “Come on, drink!” He followed this by tipping the cup a bit but the broth just spilled down his chin.

“He’s not cooperating,” Ferris whispered, hopeless. “Keep him like that,” the surgeon turned physician commanded before he took a rag and dipped it into the cup, saturating it. He brought it to Laurence’s mouth and squeezed in gently so the drops fell onto his lips. A few managed to get in between his pants. Everyone watching was about to cheer when Laurence gave a startled gasp and his eyes flew open. There was a moment of stunned silence before everyone was alive with activity.

“Laurence, Laurence! Can you hear me?” Catherine was saying, standing on all fours beside Dorset.

The lucidity – if he was lucid – did not last long and his eyes closed again. Everyone drooped with disappointment.

“Perhaps he is getting better then,” one of the bellmen of Temeraire suggested, but he didn’t quite believe it himself.

They were all worried what would happen when Temeraire found them. It surely won’t end well. It didn’t help that night when Laurence decided to lose himself in delirious nightmares. At first they were mild and only required a renewing of the wet cloth on his forehead to be settled. But as time went on, they became more and more violent, sometimes ending in his thrashing. His feverish mutters were hard to make out but after sitting with him, Catherine recalled hearing something about being disowned, losing Temeraire, and witnessing deaths of the crew and captains. It did nothing to raise morale.

On the fifth day, once they returned from their labour exhausted, there was the general sound of wings as the dragons wound down from their day’s work. A member of Dulcia’s crew was keeping watch through the broken glass before he gasped and called Captain Chenery over.

“Temeraire!”

He was posing as one of the dragons who were doing rounds above the work to stretch their cramped wings, able to blend in with the others at a glance. When his pass brought him close to their opening, he caught Chenery’s eye and made a beeline for them.

In the cave, everyone was rushing and packing. Dorset was trying to get a makeshift pad for Laurence.

Temeraire could only fit in his head in the opening and his eyes roamed wildly over the assembled men.

Ferris was with Laurence, holding him gently over the straw as they took the cloths from underneath him to try to make something usable from them.

“Laurence, Laurence,” Temeraire sounded hollow. His eyes were wide when he took in Laurence’s pale face and closed eyes, not waking up despite the rush about him.

Ferris bent down and whispered into his captain’s ear, “Captain, you _must_ wake up, you _must_ , he thinks you’re dead!” Laurence didn’t so much as stir. If anything, his breathing grew shallow and wheezing, as if he couldn’t get enough air.

Dorset immediately instructed Ferris to put him down – “Yes, straight on the straw, be gentle!” – and aligned his body straight.

The fit subsided but Temeraire was no better for it. “My captain, he’s, my dear Laurence –“ he couldn’t form a coherent thought. The other dragons didn’t let him think about it. With an angry clicking noise and screech they were on his back.

“Go Temeraire! Fly off and get the others! Laurence is alive!” Catherine was yelling as he tried to fight the other dragons.

They overwhelmed him by sheer number as they drove him down to the cliff wall. They all witnessed it, save for Dorset and Ferris who were at the back trying to get Laurence to drink water again via the rag. They watched until the dragons overwhelmed Temeraire and drove him off as a prisoner, bleeding. The only consolation was that Dulcia and Lily were nowhere in sight, but they had no assurance that Temeraire worked with them and simply did not go off on his own.

The atmosphere was grim.

The next day Laurence was no better, still muttering and twitching so often, but he did not thrash anymore. Dorset was taken to labour with everyone else this time, no doubt as compensation for the visit Temeraire paid them, and only the runners remained with Laurence. They took turns sitting by him and cooling his forehead, neck, and back. All three of them were pale from their duties and Laurence had not regained any colour either.

Needless to say, they were happy to give their duties over to Dorset and the other captains when they arrived and curled up to nap at the other corner, not too close to the opening.

Chenery was especially morose, watching Laurence almost for the whole night before Catherine intervened and said that he needed to sleep too.

“It should have been me. Temeraire is too valuable to lose,” he said.

“Don’t be silly, Chenery. You drew lots and he knew what could happen,” she replied, brushing Laurence’s blond hair from where it was plastered to his sweaty forehead.

“I highly doubt he went thinking he would be flogged.”

“Whether he thought it or not, it happened and he is an officer of the army. He’ll pull through. For Temeraire. And you shouldn’t say that, just think of Dulcia.”

They saved Laurence’s portion of porridge as it was brought each night, keeping it until next evening when new portions were brought in case Laurence awoke. If he did not, his portion was given to Catherine to eat. When she tried to dispute, Dorset cited physician’s orders and she had no choice but to back down.

The next day passed much in the same way, but Laurence’s mutterings eased and he seemed to breathe better to the runners. His face also regained a bit of colour, but was still flushed. Dorset and the crew arrived back to the sight of Roland trying to get some water in Laurence, with no success. She was about to give the cup to the surgeon but he said, “I’ll brace him up by the waist and try again. Maybe him being slightly vertical will help.”

Sure enough, it did help. He opened his eyes, and met Roland’s startled eyes. His hand, shaking slightly with the effort of it all, took the cup to his lips. Some spilled and it was only Emily’s steadying hand that salvaged the remaining water.

Dyer ran quickly and fetched the saved porridge, waiting off to the side with a lot of nervous energy, ecstatic to see his Captain conscious.

Dorset laid Laurence onto his side and fed him small round balls of the porridge.

“Temeraire?” Laurence asked after eating the whole bowl, and with the look he gave it, he wouldn’t mind for more. Luckily, the new portions should be brought soon. A silence greeted his question, the lower officers averting their eyes. “Was he here?”

“Laurence,” Harcourt said, kneeling down by him,” Laurence, pray do not get distressed; you have been ill a week. He was here, but I am afraid they ran him off; I am sure he is quite well.”

Laurence looked like he wanted to challenge her for more information, but was cut off by Dorset. “Enough; you must sleep.”

It seemed to have the desired effect for Laurence’s eyes dropped again and he passed into sleep, not laboured at all.

“We should tell him,” Catherine said, watching Dorset and Chenery turn him over onto his stomach for comfort.

“When he regains some of his strength, we will,” Chenery said, “but we shouldn’t worry him. Not just yet. He may think the worse and it will stunt his recovery.”

“But oh, poor Temeraire,” Catherine continued, “he must be in chains and probably thinks his Captain is dead. He’s never seen humans ill, he probably does not know the difference between ill and dead.”

“When we get out of here, they’ll be reunited,” Dorset said, sitting back on his haunches from where he was kneeling to adjust Laurence’s back, “but for now, I’m just happy that Captain Laurence hadn’t died.”

 

 

On their first camp back from the prison, Temeraire settled beside Laurence after their dinner, a little ways off from the main camp. Laurence was wearing a blood stained shirt that was used as his bedding at one point, but they were rather short on acceptable clothing. His back was still tender from where he was forced to stand at that trial and then forced to rock climb and run after a week of fever.

Temeraire curled protectively around him. “Laurence?”

“What is it my dear?” he laid a hand on the warm hide.

“Promise me you won’t die.”

“You know I cannot promise that.”

“But, oh Laurence, when I looked into the cave and saw you there, you were so white and it looked like you were scarcely breathing. I was so scared that I lost you. Then they kept me chained there and no one would tell me where you were. I was so scared that I had lost you,” Temeraire rumbled quietly, as quiet as he could, and curled even more tightly around Laurence so that his scales brushed at the thin cotton on his back.

Laurence squirmed uneasily, “I am sorry you had to witness me in such a state, I did not want you to.”

“Does this mean that if you were hurt, you would hide it from me?”

Laurence did not reply.

“No, that is wrong. You cannot do that. Promise me that if you are bleeding, you will tell me.”

He leaned his forehead against the warm hide, thankful to be back with Temeraire. “Alright, my dear, I promise.”

 

 

A few months later, when he was coughing and shivering in the cell, he didn’t tell Temeraire. Temeraire shouldn’t worry. Besides, it was just a cold.


End file.
